In dimension Z, there are strage moments. Euclid was not always right. He assumed parallelness, in constancy, right to the end of things; but a non-Euclidean way of being is also possible, where the lines come together, far out there. A vanishing point. The illusion of convergence.
Yet one knows it's more than illusion. Sometimes a coming together is possible, a spilling of one reality into another. A kind of soft enlacing. Not prim intersections loomed in a world of precision, no sound of the shuttle.
And one moves slowly over this other reality, beside it and underneath and around it, always with strength, always with power, yet always with giving of oneself to it. And the other senses this, coming forward with its own power, giving itself to one, in turn.
Courtesy : The Bridges of Madison County
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